First Meetings
by silberstreif
Summary: Every story has a beginning. Some are happy, some tragic, some change the world, but each one is worth remembering. This is a compilation of the first meetings and different beginnings of Prowl and Jazz through time and space. C4: The Golden Age is long over in these parts of Kaon and yet the hope of a new age hasn't come. In a nameless bar the owner notices a new visitor...
1. Side Alley

Disclaimer: I don't own #transformers or any recognizable chracter in any way.

Beta: Starfire201

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**Side Alleys**

Sometimes, fate twists your whole life around and you ask yourself if Primus plans your life as one great cynical joke.

This moment came for Prowl as he sat in an old drinking hole in a dubious part of Perihelix, emptying his eighth Energon cube in stride. Around him, other mechs hooted, their names already forgotten in the pleasant drunkenness of his processor. Determined, he winked a server to him and ordered new Energon, this time the most expensive high-grade the bar offered.

Jokes went around, mechs laughed and the game master gave out the new numbers. New round, new luck, and repeat. Sometimes he lost, sometimes he won, every time many credits changed hands. It never ended.

New players came and others went away, once the game master changed. Prowl stayed and played.

But after a big win, his tank signalled him persistently that he was so full that it hurt. As his optics drifted over the gambling table, everything became blurred. With a grimace, he finished the game and slowly staggered to the bar, just to stop and turn towards the exit after all.

Swaying, he pushed through the faceless crowd, anxious that nobody touched his doorwings and eventually stepped outside. It was dark here, as expected. The new energy laws meant that the unimportant districts wouldn't get any energy for street lights any more if they couldn't pay for it. Far away, the richer districts were bright oases in the darkness.

For a moment he was unsure where he had to go, then he decided to log into the city net, which thankfully showed him the way. Completely wearied, he started to trudge through the sooty streets.

He didn't make it far. A hand seized his shoulder, wrenched him into one of the side alleys and threw him against the wall. Unable to catch himself, Prowl slid down it and fell into a heap of trash.

"If ya want to keep your life, Praxian, give ma all of your credits."

The voice sounded confident and to judge by his silhouette, he was being assaulted by a medium-sized mech. _An impoverished construction worker?_ he guessed. Only then, he realised that he should probably answer.

"I'm not from Praxus."

"No?" His attacker sounded amused. "Not everybot has to come from there. What about your money? Ah'm getting impatient."

The barrel of a gun was pointed at his spark and Prowl froze as he noticed this. Even as drunk as he was, the fact that he was in danger finally penetrated his processor. Slowly reaching into his sub-space, he took out the credit card on which all his winnings and losses of the past orn were booked and held it towards the mech, who took it from him with a smirk.

"Nice doing business with ya!"

The weapon vanished, his assailant winked once and left the alley.

With a low moan, Prowl let his helm fall back against the dirty wall. On the card was around half of his remaining wealth. This night really had it in for him. He was now a couple of thousands credits poorer, had more error messages in his CPU than ever before and his own situation was still a catastrophe.

But he lived. And that wasn't the common result of ambushes by far. In comparison to the stories, this had been harmless and friendly. He had met a gentlemech robber.

Slowly he stood up, logged again into the city network, and continued his long walk back to his hotel.

He was on the border of a better district when he heard shouts.

"But Ah'm telling the truth, that's the card of ma friend!"

"Sure, and your friend is now lying deactivated in some waste heap."

"No!"

Prowl was getting nearer and now saw that two Enforcers were holding a greyish mech who was looking very desperate. Normally, he would simply walk past, but something familiar about the voice– and the wall next to his shoulder that looked oh so inviting – made him stop.

Neither of the Enforcers looked as if they believed a single word. "No? Then maybe your victim lies on the bottom of a slag-puddle? Or was it just a robbery, Jazz?" asked the older Enforcer, whose insignia on the shoulder armor marked him as the chief of his unit.

"Ah ain't a murderer!"

_That voice..._ Now he recognized where he'd heard that voice before. This "Jazz" had been his attacker in the alley. And that meant that that card was his own!

He felt his headache getting worse. Why had Jazz had to run into those Enforcers? Did Primus really want to torture him?

None of them had noticed him yet and for a astrosecond he wanted to give in and simply walk away as if he had nothing to do with this. But still, it was his credits and his gentlemech robber that they were capturing. He felt responsible.

His logic chips gave him the helpful hint that he really had drunken a bit too much.

"You're not a murderer yet." The Enforcer stressed the 'yet'. "Why should anyone give you their card of their own free will, uh?"

Jazz glowered. "'cause he's ma friend?"

"Sure." The younger one laughed mockingly. "As if street runners like you have friends." He took a step towards Jazz and towered above the smaller mech. "But tell us, what's the name of your so-called friend?"

Prowl moved towards the scene with the firm intention of getting his card back. He needed those credits. Walking a less then straight line, he used the chance to scrutinize his attacker for a few astroseconds. He really was smaller than he and didn't look really that dangerous outside of a dark side alley. His dark grey – silver coating was chipped on several places and the posture was defensive, as if ready to run at any time. The white visor was really the only noticeable feature and gave the bot a certain charm. But it failed completely to help to sway the wary enforcers.

"'course ma friend has a name," answered Jazz angrily, but the uncertainty was too obvious.

The Enforcer grinned, feeling he was close to victory. "And can you tell me this name, just so that we can verify it?"

"Not necessary," Prowl heard himself say. "My name is Prowl."

All three turned around and stared, completely surprised, at the non-Praxian. Prowl could understand them well, he wasn't any less surprised. Maybe that hadn't been a good idea?

The unit chief controlled himself fast and pointed at the card, which he held in his hand. "Is this yours, good sir?"

"Yes." He stopped next to Jazz, who looked completely flabbergasted and tried to discreetly check out escape routes. "If you want, you can verify it with my ID."

They did. As expected the inquiry came back positive and Prowl was again the owner of his credits. Relieved, he put it back into his subspace.

"Can I help you further?" he asked politely as he has a thousand times before.

The younger one pointed to Jazz. "Has he offended you or something...?"

Offended? Prowl's CPU presented a few pictures of insults and angry arguments. "No." Jazz was a gentlemech robber.

"You're friends?" asked the Enforcer, doubtingly.

Before Prowl could answer, Jazz said "Yes." He gave the robber an angry glare. Really, he could speak for himself, he had ceased to be a sparkling vorns ago.

The unit chief shook his head disbelievingly, but also with the certain professional indifference that all seasoned Enforcers had. "Come on, Hopper, looks as if everything is alright here. We wish you mechs a good orn."

"Whatever." Hopper gave them a mistrustful glance, but followed his boss as they again went on the hunt for the miscreants of this town.

When they were out of hearing, Prowl turned towards his own miscreant, clueless what to do in such a situation. His body was still telling him that hotel and a recharge station was a worthy destination and so he decided simply to go, just as Jazz asked:

"Hey, why did ya help me?"

Prowl stopped, annoyed. This was obvious, wasn't it? "Because you had my credits."

"Sure, right, but ya could've just said that I've robbed you... or attacked ya. Whatever ya want to call it." His gentlemech robber nearly looked angry. Prowl was puzzled.

"Yes. But you said I'm your friend." Something was wrong with this reasoning, but his logic chips thought it flawless. He had always been told that friendship was the most important of all. Sadly, he never had a friend on who he could have tested this theory.

Jazz shook his head, seemingly desperately. "Ya're really completely drunk, what?"

Prowl nodded honestly. A part of him was pleased that the other had realized it. "This is to be a realistic assumption after twenty Energon cubes... or so."

At some point he had stopped counting. At twelve... or eleven? Was that when he bought that second round?

"Twenty? Are ya insane? All those credits... and ya simply waste them."

He shrugged. "Better than laying in the corner and wailing about my fate."

Jazz saw that probably slightly differently, for he angrily yelled: "Sure. Do ya realize that ya could've survived a quarter vorn with all that Energon? Ya've wasted a fortune, more than Ah ever had! No fate can be that bad that this is justified or Ah would be the biggest drinker on Cybertron!"

Prowl needed a moment to understand the gist of what Jazz said, and then muttered, feeling a bit guilty: "I thought it a good idea at the time." Even if he didn't remember how exactly he came to this conclusion.

"Obviously."

"Yeah..." He hesitated as his body renewed his demand of recharge with a vertigo. "Do you think I can return to my hotel this late?"

Jazz only shrugged. "How should Ah know? Ah never was in a hotel to sleep."

"No? Why were you then in a hotel?"

His gentlemech robber stared and then laughed loudly. "Primus, are ya this drunk or this innocent?"

"I'm not innocent." If he were, he wouldn't be here. He was everything but innocent. "They all said I'm guilty."

"Not guilty, innocent." Jazz made a hand movement that could mean everything and nothing. "Ya know, innocent as in to have never been getting it down with another mech, or intimate...to never have-"

"Interfaced?" interrupted Prowl with a flash of insight, of which he was absurdly proud.

"Yes."

"I've head of it, but what has interfacing to do with a hotel?"

Air was pulled hissingly through Jazz's filter, then the gentlemech robber laid a hand on Prowl's shoulder. "Ya know what, ma friend, I'll just come with ya to your hotel and show it to ya, 'kay? And just for once, ya don't have to pay."

"Are we friends?" He wasn't so sure, but then Jazz had already said it twice. "And I thought interfacing is free?"

Jazz grinned. "Sometimes. Sometimes not. But for ya, Ah'd rather not, sweety."

"Don't call me sweety." He wasn't an Energon confection.

"'kay, Prowler. So, the deal is 'kay?"

Prowl hesitated. The temptation to learn something new and not to be alone at the hotel with his black thoughts and blacker memories was strong. Though... "And you really have time to show it to me? Doesn't anybody wait for you?"

Again Jazz grinned, but it was edgier, much more bitter. "Ya're really new in this town, what? Here no one misses no one... and Ah never had a home. So?"

"Oh... then yes." But it was sad that his attacker was this lonely. Maybe he should tell him that. They were already friends, weren't they?

"Well, then let's go!" Jazz linked arms with him and started walking, just to stop again. "Eh, what hotel again?"

Prowl told him the coordinates and Jazz admitted appreciatively that it was the best hotel he ever visited. Whereupon the non-Praxian asked a bit surprised if many cheaper hotels existed.

An alley away, two Enforcers had watched the scene and now relaxed slowly. The unit chief said, smiling towards his subordinate.

"Well, Jazz has a friend after all... and you have lost the bet." He gave him the data stick with the shifts of the next few orns.

Grumpily, Hopper signed his name into four shifts of voluntary paper work.

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Every story uploaded as a "First Meeting"-oneshot has the potential and the background to become it's own story. I simply don't have the time to write them all. So if you like a story and want to read more of this universe, please tell me. I'll see what I can do. ^^

~silber


	2. Love Novel

Disclaimer: Down own any recognizable characters or Transformers.

Beta: The wonderful Starfire201 :)

Note: Sorry to all people who saw this chapter and couldn't understand a word because it was in German. ^^" Special thanks to Cybela and Gatekat, who asked me about the language.

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**Love Novel**

It was the social event of the deca-orn in Praxus and everybody of distinction had been invited to the mansion in the middle of the city. And of course, they all had come. None of the nobles, wealthy, or famous wanted to miss a chance to flaunt their superior education and culture and the small, private home celebration of the reclusive author of over a dozen groundbreaking novels was the perfect opportunity to do so. Particularly since, according to carefully spread rumours, the first chapter of a new book would be revealed.

For Jazz, all this didn't really matter as he stood in the elegant dark blue foyer and watched the arriving guests. They all were so rich and acted as if nothing could touch them, while in reality they were scheming, creating cut-throat alliances, and forsaking their own friends in the typical frenzy of decadence which the upper class possessed. Perfect. Finally, after all these vorns of hard work he was exactly where he always should have been. If he was lucky, this evening would provide the stepping stone he needed...

"Primus," whispered Buster next to him, rapt in contemplation. "Do you see her? The aft, those optics, and that finish! Please tell me, some slagger didn't deactivate me on the way here..."

Jazz watched as the attractive femme swaggered past. Light flashed on her exquisitely polished edges and underlined every single sensual movement. "I think that's Stardust, an actress. They say she interfaced with the governor of Typhern."

"Who could blame that fellow?" The minibot grinned. "She defines berthworthy new."

Someone hit them on the helmets. "Milage! What the pit-?" protested Buster.

The stocky, new mech gave him an angry stare. He was obviously built for heavy work and not for beauty as most other guests. He stood out like a cyberslug in the middle of Iacon. "We're here to work, not to ogle at the guests."

"But that was Stardust!"

"And even if she were the Prime herself, for us they're unreachable."

"Milage, our performance is in a few joors. Until then, we can have a bit of fun, right?" Jazz tried to placate his team member. "I mean, hey, how often can bots like us visit such parties?"

The answer was never, and all three knew it. Their little band was only invited on the recommendation of a fan, who had an acquaintance who worked among the staff here. Basically, their presence was nearly a miracle.

"I'm only saying... just forget those femmes here, they wouldn't notice us if we ripped our sparks out and presented them on a silver platter."

"You're too serious." Buster put an arm around his bigger friend. "Can't a mech dream?"

"Yeah, but you always dream the impossible." Milage discreetly pointed towards a group at the right. "Look at that beauty there. Great red, hot curves and those sultry looks... And the best, I bet she's a pleasure bot."

Buster looked there and back. "You sure?"

"You doubt me, punk?" He poked him into his side. "She's just not one of those gutter bots, but finest good. I think they even have a different name..."

As the conversation continued, Jazz noticed someone approaching and muttered, "Quiet guys. Here comes our employer."

"Oh." Instantly, they stood straight and got serious.

Purposefully and without any hint of a smile, an older black-silver bot came towards them. "Good evening, gentlebots. How do you like this small gathering so far?"

"It's wonderful, thank you." Free energon, divine sweets and all bots a feast for the optics... What more could a mech want?

"That's good to hear." He glanced in a distracted way towards the next group that had just arrived. "Your performance is in two joors and fifteen breems. Until then, you're welcomed as guests at this celebration. We'll cover all your expenses."

Jazz nodded, knowing that in these parts of society "all" meant "all and everything you ever wished for". Engeron, dancers, pleasure bots, drugs and things Jazz couldn't even imagine. "Thank you."

The bot only nodded and walked towards the next guest. The chance was high that he had already forgotten their band existed before reaching those nobles.

Jazz looked cheerfully towards his friends. "Did you hear? We're guests."

Buster grinned. "Great." Without a doubt he would try to woo the actress despite the warnings.

Milage, on the other hand, glanced towards the femme he had pointed out earlier. "Well, everymech tries his own luck?"

"Of course. We can compare our catches later!" As if he would have it any other way.

"Jazz, I fear that this time you'll fail pathetically." Buster patted his shoulders pityingly.

"Dream on." Jazz had always won this particular competition and he would win this time again. "I bet five cubes that at the end of this evening I'll have the most beautiful one on my arm and you're alone!"

His friends laughed, accepting the challenge.

They separated and Jazz strolled between all the nobles and beauties and pleasure bots. With many he talked; some knew him from past performances, and some were very interested in his career though he stayed with none of them for very long. They all were too cold and unnatural for the fun-loving mech to feel at ease. Bored, he tried the different high-grades and walked around searching for someone that sparked his interest and would help him to win his bet.

"Excuse me, sir," someone suddenly asked. "You wouldn't know by chance were the normal Energon has been placed?"

Jazz blinked as he found himself in front of a slender, elegant Praxian, who waited nervously for the answer.

"Normal Energon?" asked Jazz and wanted to hit himself for his stupidity. What kind of answer was that?

Thankfully, the Praxian didn't seem to notice his stumble and nodded. "Yes, I only get High-grade offered, but... I don't want to drink it."

Jazz couldn't help himself and his optics lingered longer than was appropriate on those twitching wings. They were white, with black highlights, just like the whole mech. Very tasteful, high-end quality, but nowhere platinum or other valuable metal. He was no noble. Jazz relaxed somewhat:

"You don't want to drink? Well, to everybot their own. Let me think... at the entrance and here they had only confections... No, sorry, I don't know."

The doorwings dropped a bit and Jazz realised he was staring again. "Oh. Then I'll look somewhere else. Thank you for your help." He tried to look over the mechs around them, failed, and turned towards the entrance, a step away from disappearing into the crowd.

"Hey, wait!" With two big steps, Jazz was next to him. "I'll come with you, if you don't mind."

The Praxian looked at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"Because I want to?" And because this was the most beautiful bot of the evening so far, who wasn't a noble. The doorwings twitched again and something in Jazz fluttered. He would win his bet with this bot, no doubt. "And two pairs of optics see more than one."

"I see."

It was a bit reserved and Jazz didn't like it. He wanted to see him smile. "I'm Jazz, by the way."

As expected (and hoped for), the Praxian gifted him with an interested look. "Are you a part of the Jazz band?"

"Yes." The longer he looked at his prey, the more certain he was that the Praxian wasn't famous. He had never seen him before and someone used to interviews would be more confident. Pleasure bot, maybe? It would explain why he drank no High-grade, it diminished his performance. "Have you heard of me?"

A small nod. "I've seen you play in the Elysium. You were very good."

One of his best and biggest performances to date. What luck! "Thank you. It wasn't anything special but it's always great to hear that people like us. Do you watch bands often?"

The bot hesitated, and Jazz feared that he had said the wrong thing in the conversation somewhere, then: "Sometimes. If my work leads me to such a place..."

Bingo. Definitely a pleasure bot. Who else worked on concerts? "That's great. You should come just for fun and not only to work. I'll promise if you do, I show you the backstage."

"Your offer is very obliging." The Praxian seemed to think for a short moment and then added a bit quieter: "Maybe someorn I'll take you up on it." He shrugged and the doorwings twitched again so tantalizingly.

Forget the bet. He wanted this mech in his berth before the orn was over and pleasure him until he knew all bis moans by heart.

"I'll await that day eagerly. Are you free tonight, my friend?"

The Praxian turned his head to the side, and Jazz took a moment to admire this sharp, and strong chevron atop a face full of character and secrets. "Free?"

"Yes." Then he remembered, that maybe he had to work for a certain time on this celebration even after his performance. "After this party here, of course and only if you have time."

If not, he would wait for another orn. This bot was worth waiting for.

Another hesitation and then, slowly, the Praxian seemed to smile. The fluttering was nearly painful. "I would be delighted."

"Wonderful." Inside he cheered. "When - ?" But the other held up a hand.

"Please wait a moment." Jazz, who recognized the signs of an internal communication, kept silent until his future berthcompanion looked at him again. "It seems I'm needed by the head of the staff. You have to excuse me."

"No problem." He smiled, but it was more than a little forced. How much he wanted to berth that bot right here and now, and the thought that some old mech who organized the staff would get him...! But no. He had tonight. "When do we meet?"

"At two, at the entrance?"

"Gladly." The Praxian gave him another shy smile and turned to walk away again.

That was the moment Jazz remembered something. "Hey, wait a moment. I still need your number."

He stopped in mid-step. "My number?"

Jazz smiled. It seems as if the Praxian didn't want to treat this as a business obligation, and a part of him rejoiced at this. He wasn't just another client for him. But at the same time, he couldn't accept the sacrifice. Life was hard enough for pleasure bots, without losing the payment of a night with a possible noble. At least this way he could compensate him a bit.

"Sure. I was told, that all of my expenses would be covered and among those expenses are Pleasure bots. We don't have, I mean, well..." He stumbled and felt himself blush. When had his optics wandered towards the floor? "I just don't want to be the one who makes you miss your payment."

Silence. Jazz frowned, as something within him clenched worriedly. Maybe that hadn't been a good idea to say? He looked up and nearly flinched as he saw the dark and cold face of his new acquaintance.

"Pleasure bot?" The question was quiet, nearly unbelieving.

Jazz could only nod slowly, even though he knew with every fibre of his being that he shouldn't. But his previous words were spoken and heard, and nothing could change them any more.

The Praxian looked at him for a too long moment, turned abruptly, and nearly ran away. Even though more than a few guests looked surprised at being pushed out of his path, he didn't stop until he reached a plain door and disappeared behind it.

Jazz still stood in the same spot, gaping and feeling the loss of something he couldn't name.


	3. The Art of Winning

Written for: ProwlxJazz Anniversary on Livejournal, Day 25, Prompt "Cheater"

Beta: Starfire201

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**The Art of Winning**

When Prowl arrived (as always on such occasions as late as possible), the party was already in full swing. With a sigh, he entered the spacious apartment from which he had already heard the deep bass from the street and nearly walked out backwards again. It was hot, loud and so very full. He pulled up his wings and used all his self-control to stay and try to find his brother in the crowd of dancing mechs and femmes and some other more exotic frames. The twilight, only broken by a green laser, made the task harder, and the vibrations started to hurt his wings after only a breem. The desire just to turn around and go hit him again with full force, when a obviously drunken minibot stopped in front of him and frowned**.**

"Hey, are you Smoky... something? You know, the bot who throws this party?"

"No." Prowl tried to get around the mech, but a surprisingly strong hand captured his arm.

"But they said he was a sweet Praxian, and you are one..."

"I'm his brother." Unfortunately. Sometimes he wondered how they even belonged to the same family, not to mention to even had the same creators.

"Oh..." The mech blinked stupidly, then smiled. "Awesome. Tell him the party is burning hot, yeah?"

Prowl nodded**,** resigned. Anything to get this sticky hand off his arm. "I will."

"Thanks, mech! You're a cool bot, really!"

With a bow, the mech joined the dancing crowd again. Relieved, Prowl tried to cross the living room without another incident and was**,** to his immense surprise**,** successful. Reaching the kitchen, he found a huge mess of energon and drunken mechs on the floor to greet him. He abruptly turned with a grimace and tried to enter the next room, the sleeping room – only to not even dare to open the door when he heard more than suggestive noises from the inside. His brother seemed to be busy. Or it was one of the guests. Whoever it was, he wouldn't go in. With his luck**,** they would invite him to join.

Again, he observed the dancing crowd in the spacious living room, now only searching for a quiet place where he could look for his brother and wait until this orn was finally over. There was none. Instead, he saw an open door which led outside into the garden. With new hope, he carved another way through all those insanely happy people, ignoring every time his pede stepped into something too soft or too sticky or something entirely undefinable, and finally stepped outside.

The noise dropped by a significant amount, the air was cooler**,** and for a moment he relaxed.

"Hey, you there. Are you a player?" A green bot was approaching him from the right with a big scowl on the face.

"Player?"

"Yeah, only players can get into the garden." The stranger stopped in front of Prowl. "We play different games, Poker, Zureke, One Screw, and others... Interested?"

Of course, Smokescreen would make his own garden into a casino. He should have expected this. Really. But he would sooner play a game of luck, than go back into this pit of a party.

"Zureke would be fine," he answered. "How many players are here?"

"Good. Come with me." The green mech led him through the bright crystals. "Around eight, I think."

"And how much money is in?"

"Don't know, don't care." The mech grinned. "But I know that everyone who played the game this night lost. Well, everyone but Jazz."

Prowl frowned. "Jazz?"

"Yep. Won every single round. I tell you, he cheats, but no one can prove anything. He's just that good." They entered a small clearing. "Here we are. I have to go back now, so have fun!"

"Thank you."

He slowly moved closer to the table. There were indeed eight players, a black and white one with a stylish visor was grinning, the others were more along the lines of frowning. The huge stack of chips in only one place of the table was telling as well.

"And Ah win again," said Jazz. "Thanks for playing!"

"This is impossible," argued one mech and another joined the muttering, "You have to cheat."

"Hey, hey mechs, Ah don't cheat, Ah'm just very lucky," defended Jazz, but even he didn't manage to sound very convincing. "Who wants to play another round?"

"I'm out, you've got nearly all my credits and I'm not that stupid to risk losing even more," said one of the mechs who previously complained, stood up and walked past Prowl. Their arms brushed for a small second and the mech winked. "If you join the game, Praxian, good luck."

"Uh, thank you?"

But then the other was already past him and out of the clearing.

"Oh, a newcomer!" said Jazz and stood up as well. "Do you want to join us? A seat has just become free!"

Prowl hesitated for a second, but the music he could still hear made the decision for him. Better to lose money than to go back. "Yes." He took the seat. "How much money do you play with?"

"Not much," answered Jazz.

"Ten credits is one chip," explained another mech. "Not much is relatively."

It was indeed. Ten credits a chip wasn't much for a noble, but for a poor miner? It could mean the difference between hunger and a comfortable life. Luckily, Prowl was a well-off bot.

"I'm in," he said.

"Great." Jazz gave him a smile and Prowl felt uncomfortably reminded of a predator.

He remembered the warning that Jazz was a cheater. Probably a professional one, too. Well, Prowl wasn't too bad himself. Maybe he could win.

A round later, he had to admit it to himself – he wasn't an ounce better than the other six losers on the table. With a sigh, he handed over his money to Jazz. This would be one expensive evening.

It followed round after round and Jazz won and won. Slowly the other players left the table, until only three were left. And when the last bot stood with an angry curse, Prowl knew that this had come down to a game of two. Something that fit him very well. With each person less, he could feel himself relax more.

As soon as they were alone, Jazz, instead of giving out a new round, looked at him and asked, "Don't ya wanna go too? Here is no winning for ya this night."

Prowl found himself smiling. "I'm not here to win."

"No?" Jazz cocked his head aside in obvious confusion. "Why then?"

"I simply want to avoid the party, and this seems to be the most quiet place." Indeed, even the music seemed now quite far. It was nearly peaceful among the crystals.

Jazz seemed surprised. "Not a party bot?"

"Not at all."

"So why are ya here then?" Jazz put the cards aside and leant back in his chair. "Surely ya knew what to expect."

Prowl snorted. "Of course I knew. But my brother didn't relent until I agreed to come."

"Your brother... And who is that?"

Prowl raised an optic ridge. "Can't you guess? I'm told we look quite similar."

Jazz stared at him for a moment, than shook his head. "No way. Smokey?"

"Yes, he's my younger brother." Prowl made himself comfortable as well. "It's his birthday party to celebrate his 400th vorn and if all he wishes for is that I come..."

"Ya'll come. Despite all." There was a warm note in Jazz's voice.

"Despite all." Now he looked at Jazz with new interest. "You seem, in contrast to some other guests, familiar with Smokescreen. How did you meet?"

Jazz laughed. "If he's ya brother and ya played with me the last three joors, do ya really need to ask?"

Prowl felt his wings flutter in amusement, well aware of Smokescreen's gambling tendencies. "I suppose not. Does he win against you?"

"When Ah play fairly, occassionally."

"So you admit you cheated?"

The smaller mech grinned. "Never."

"Pity. I would be interested in learning your tricks..." For a moment, Prowl himself was surprised by his sentence, then he admitted that it was the truth. Not only had he been very unsuccessful with discovering the trick, he wanted to try it against Smokescreen. Just once, of course. Maybe twice. Or at least the next time his brother forced him to play some stupid game again.

Jazz perked up at his words. "Really? Wouldn't have expected that from a stuffy mech like ya."

"Oh, I thought I already told you Smokescreen is my brother... did you really expect me to be helpless when he tries to cheat?"

A soft laughter. "Poor ya. Then Ah have to teach ya how to defend yaself from the evil plans of ya brother, what?"

Prowl found himself smiling broadly. "Of course. It's your duty as an upstanding citizen."

"Upstanding! Ah never thought anybot would ever call me that." With a flash of pure amusement across his visor, he took the cards into his servo again. "Then, watch pretty bot, Ah'm not the most patient of teachers."

"Don't worry. I'm a fast learner."

A mere breem later Prowl was staring at the cards. "That was it? That was how you knew which cards would come?"

"Yep."

"By their smell?!"

"Sure. What did ya expect?"

Yes, what did he expect? He had already eliminated the chance of any markings on the cards. "I don't know..."

"See?" Jazz smiled proudly. "After recognising the scent, it's all just a matter of training. Simple."

"Simple, yet genius," muttered Prowl.

"Thank ya." Jazz stood and walked playfully over to the Praxian. "So, now that Ah told ya my secret, how do ya think of paying me?"

"Paying?" Prowl frowned, but felt a very different kind of excitement stirring up inside. "I'm afraid you already nearly robbed me of all my money."

"Ah did?" Jazz leant over and gently touched the pointed edge of Prowl's wing. "Then Ah suppose ya have to pay differently..."

His wing fluttered with every gentle contact. "Demand your price."

Another soft laugh, which Prowl thought he really started to like, and a finger trailing along the whole edge. "What can Ah demand? Everything?"

The Praxian felt his body heating up. Jazz was good, just teasing, making him longing for more. "As long as I'm willing to give it..."

"Ah would want much from ya..." A hot breath of air on his audios. "But maybe we should begin simple. Tell me your designation."

Such a small request. He couldn't believe he hadn't given it yet. "Prowl," he said with a smile. "And you're Jazz."

A hummed answer and a second hand started to copy the movements on the other wing. "That Ah am. What to demand now... mmh, how about ya spread your wings, Prowler?"

"Prowler?" he muttered, but then did as he was told. It had been a long time anybot had been this careful and loving with his wings. With him.

"Sure, somehow you're a Prowler to me. Dark, elegant, intelligent..." Jazz voice turned lower and lower, until every word was nearly vibrating on his wing. "A bot has to pray to Primus to be able to touch ya, Ah sure as pit are...ya're so beautiful..."

Prowl nearly moaned.

"Prowl!" yelled a familar voice. Both black and white bots flinched and turned to see a drunken Smokescreen stumbling into the clearing. "Prowl, Jazz? What are you two doing...?" Realisation dawned on his faceplate. "Oh. Eh, sorry, you know? Shall I go?"

Prowl wanted to scream 'Yes!' in frustration, but the moment was gone and wouldn't return. He shared a look of disappointment with Jazz and then stood up. "No, no, stay Smokescreen. I've already searched for you before. I wanted to congratulate you."

"Sorry." Smokescreen grinned sheepishly. "There was this bot I know and he really wanted..."

Prowl lifted a hand. "No need for details."

"Still a prude, what?" Then, he looked between Jazz and Prowl and his wings shook in silent laughter. "Well, maybe not as much as I thought..."

If Smokescreen had come in two breems later, who knew what would have happened. Suddenly, Prowl was quite glad that his brother had decided to search for him right now. "Be that as it may, congratulations on reaching your 400th vorn."

"Thank you!" Smokescreen hugged him. "You even came! You're the best bro a mech can have."

Prowl felt himself blushing. "Of course I came. I love you."

"And I you." Smokescreen stepped back. "Come on, go back inside. The gift giving will start soon and I'm sure you haven't drunken anything yet." The black and white Praxian hesitated. "Now go. Jazz and I need to discuss his part in the coming performance. You know, it's his band that's going to play later. Isn't that cool?"

Prowl sighed. "I'm going. Will I see you all later?" He spoke as much to his brother as to Jazz.

"We sure will," said Jazz, while Smokescreen nodded.

When Prowl left the clearing, the good cheer vanished abruptly from Smokescreen**'**s face. "What in Unicron's name was that, Jazz?"

His friend winced. "Nothing..."

"Slag, it was everything but nothing!" Smokescreen's wings pushed up high, and in a clear V-position, the ultimate sign of anger of a Praxian frame. "You're my friend Jazz, and I really like you, but I know you and your bad sides. You're a cheater, a liar and a berth-hopper. Everything that Prowl isn't."

"Hey, Smokey, Ah get that he's ya brother, but aren't ya going a bit far?" said Jazz while holding up his servos in a peace gesture. "Ah mean, he's the older one and more than capable of making his own decisions."

"I know. But you break sparks like it's a hobby." Smokescreen vented deeply, trying to quell his protective anger. "He's the only family I have left, and he..." Smokescreen lost the words for a moment, then he continued: "He cares deeply. Really deep. There is nothing casual for him."

Jazz blinked. "Nothing?"

"Nothing." Smokescreen looked hard at his friend. "So only persuade him if you're serious, got it?"

For a moment Jazz was very, very still. Then he nodded slowly. "Ah got it."

"Good." Smokescreen turned. "Then let's go back."

They walked quietly back through the garden path, and when they passed the last crystal, Jazz said quietly: "He played Zureke with us. Played and stayed, even though he was losing every round and knew that Ah was cheating... He said he wasn't there to win, when we were alone. Wasn't angry that Ah cheated, or that he lost all the money. Instead, he only asked me how Ah did it and was nice and funny..."

Smokescreen stopped with a dark look on his faceplate. "Get to the point, Jazz."

The cheater shrugged, obviously uncomfortable. "Ah guess, all Ah want to say is, that he's different."

The Praxian looked towards the house in which his party continued on as if he could see his brother through the thick walls. "I know. He's a good mech, Jazz, one of the best."

"Yes." Jazz was quiet for a moment. "So, if Ah'm serious, ya won't jump between us again?"

Smokescreen was quiet for a long moment, searching the face of the cardshark for something. Then, he slowly answered: "I suppose."

Jazz grinned. "Thanks!"

The Praxian nodded and started walking again. "But Jazz... if you break his spark or worse, ever cheat on him..."

"Ah get it, my friend. Really."

They entered the house and the party. The crowd was moving, the beat contagious, and Smokescreen again a small sun of joy, but Jazz didn't care. Not anymore. He searched for another Praxian in the room, one who wouldn't stand in the middle of the dance floor, who wouldn't call out to get attention on himself. One who laughed with him and had a smile Jazz wanted to see again.

He searched, and finally saw a white wing on the bar. With a smile**, **he sauntered over.

"Found ya, Prowler," he whispered next to the audio of the unaware mech. Prowl flinched and turned, but when he recognized the other mech, he smiled.

"That you did. I thought you were busy with your band?"

"Later," admitted Jazz. "But now Ah wanted to ask if ya want to dance...?"

Prowl hesitated. Normally, he really wasn't a mech for dancing or music in general. But then, what was he doing here so far? Just standing at the bar, being bored and hoping that it was over soon. Jazz was infinitely more interesting then that. Pit, when he remembered those hands on his wings...

"Sure," he said and in a bold move took Jazz's servo into his own. "And afterwards maybe we can talk some more?"

The relief that Prowl agreed, that he wanted to talk further with him was nearly unreal. "Ah would love to," said Jazz and the smile on his face was bright and real and completely true.

Maybe this really was different as he had confessed to Smokescreen. Something warm and strong bloomed in Jazz's chest as he led Prowl to the dance floor and put an arm around his shoulders. Maybe this was right.

Prowl felt the arm, the music and the sparkbeat of Jazz, who was so near to him that their chassis nearly touched all the way. Carefully and with a surprising patience**,** Jazz led a clumsy Prowl to the rhythm of the song, and slowly he was moving with the beat. With slight surprise, he realised that his wings didn't hurt anymore, now that he didn't hold them stiff on his back, but let them flutter freely. It was nice. Very nice. He sighed and moved closer to Jazz. He felt happy, and for a moment the whole world, the hated party and even his brother stopped mattering as he danced chassis to chassis with Jazz. His last coherent thought before he let it all go was the deep wonder that he had found perfection and peace in a place like this.

Aside from the dance floor, Smokescreen had observed how his friend had approached his brother, how they talked and how to his utter surprise proper, stiff Prowl was led to the dance floor.

The next time he looked, they were still dancing in a tight embrace, moving together as if they had never done anything else, both with a soft smile on their so often closed**-**off faces, having forgotten the whole world around them.

Smokescreen didn't look again, certain that he had seen the beginning of something special between the cheater and his brother:

True love.


	4. To meet in Kaon

Disclaimer: None of these ideas are mine. They all belong to Hasbro.

Was written as kind of a social study months ago. I forgot to upload it, though... ;)

* * *

Meeting in Kaon

The bar in a small side alley of the mainstreet 456-D didn't have an official name to call its own and that was good so. Places with names were easier found by enforcers, when they dared to come into this area, and gangs that looked for a place to crash and drink until their processor was white noise without paying anything. Of course, protection money was still paid to the kingpin, but that evened out with the fact that the owner hadn't paid tax since he was sparked. Not had he didn't want to. He had even tried to do his duty once, when normal bars were granted subsidies from the Prime. But it was difficult to pay tax as a normal citizen if you weren't registered in any sort of official data base and your business had no name. In the end, he had simply given up and returned to his no name bar, to his staff and guests who were just as non-existent to the government as he himself.

The only thing that had lingered from this unsuccessful adventure was the small question, if those high-ups in Iacon even knew that a higher population than all bots in the Tri-States together lived in Kaon and that in consequence all the energon allocated to Kaon was too little. Most Kaonites were sure that they knew – how could they not? - and just wanted to keep their shares to themselves. Starving Kaonites were nothing the rich cities were interested in.

And so they were sitting here, drinking energon in quiet reverence, all knowing perfectly well that the next famine would come.

The owner looked around the dark room, which had many carefully placed shadows to ensure that his customers working in the more shady businesses of Kaon could keep their privacy. This orn the bar was full, but peaceful, energon flowed and he slowly relaxed, knowing that with today's earnings he could pay all the outstanding bills.

"Boss?" asked one of his waiters, a small blue femme he had hired, because she only had one other option left if he refused her – and pleasure bots never lived for long. But so far she had earned her keep.

He turned to her, a good bit more lazy than he normally would, but the orn had been long and slowly he could feel the effects of the triple shift. "Yeah?"

She smiled, it was an automatic reaction, but it gave her the nice look his guests appreciated. "We have a new one."

"Really?" His interest was sparked. New ones were rare. Normally, he knew every mech, his bondmate and his friends from sparkling days who entered. Few left this district and got a better job, most simply stayed and survived. "What kind of new?"

"Very new." She pointed into a dark corner in the far right. "He sits alone, still with the first cube." She lowered her voice a bit, as if telling a big secret, "And he has wings."

"Really?" She nodded eagerly. "Well, that's unusual."

Most newcomers were here to scout the area for various parties. They regularly served undercover Enforcers, spies, agents of drug lords, and visitors from the kingpin's court. Most went away as quietly as they had come, when they realised that this area was simply too poor and downbeat for most of anything. But sometimes they got a true newcomers who was washed up on the shores of Kaon without hope, money and friends. But in all the time he was here, never had a frame as exotic as one with wings come to his bar.

He nodded his thanks to the femme and slowly meandered through the room, greeting regulars left and right, always with his final destination in mind. The femme had spoken true, not that he doubted her, on the table sat a big, elegant black and white mech, with wings proudly raised in an enticing display. It was obvious that he hadn't been here for long, or he would have learned that such things only led to that kind of trouble which left one hacked and greying in an abandoned alley.

He took the chair across from the guest without asking and sat down. The mech was not only good looking, but his paintjob was relatively new, the nanites shining healthy. Especially telling was the bright red chevron on the head, a colour a mech could only maintain with energon which quality was several steps higher than the one he served. From the frame, the upkeep of it, the perfect composure that hadn't even let one emotion show when he had taken the chair, he guessed that this stranger was a well-off Praxian. Someone who should desire to visit his bar as much as a one way trip to the Pit.

"You're new," he said matter of fact, after the Praxian only stared at him, not even twitching those doorwings. "As the owner of this small business I welcome you in Kaon." He smiled, but there was no true joy. "Planning on staying?"

His guest straithened a bit. "I'm grateful for your warm welcome. I don't know yet if I'll stay for longer." The voice was deep and cultured, every word precisely chosen for its purpose.

"Most don't want to, but end up staying anyhow." He winked the femme and took one of the energon cubes she carried. "Kaon is not exactly a holiday destination."

"It's not as bad as its reputation implies," was the polite answer.

It earned him a few dry chuckles. "Not as bad? Mech, I live here since ever and yes, it's that bad."

Something changed in the cold face of the Praxian and the owner took a moment, until he understood that the mech had relaxed a bit. He supposed that he should count this as a smile, because he was quite sure that his guest first had to look up the definition of one before he could attempt it. He smiled back anyway, "So, what has you brought to this sad corner of Kaon?"

"Business," was the succinct reply.

"Business," he repeated thoughtfully. "Have to admit, that's a first." He took a deep gulp of his cube, tasting the strange blend of sweet and stale that all diluted energon had. "Sometimes I think I'm the only one around who runs a business here."

"You are," answered the Praxian slowly. "This is actually why I came here. All the other mechs who live here, do this by completing jobs ranging from the shady to the plain illegal."

That wasn't exactly news to him. With the biggest employer being the kingpin, followed by the apartment laboratories for drugs, the spreading prostitution and the gangs that robbed mechs in the richer districts, finding a bar in which no drugs were sold, that didn't double as a brothel or the mainquarters for some gang or another was difficult. The same could be said for other businesses, most were simply a façade for other things. Not his, though. He had a bar and nothing more and that made his place so popular. But he didn't live in an illusion, just because he was better, didn't mean he was an innocent mech with a pure spark.

"My business is illegal as well. I'm not even paying tax," he said with a self-deprecating smile. "And look around, the only ones I serve are criminals."

"Still, you try." The Praxian leaned forward. "And even more important, you succeed."

He shrugged. "And?" It was succeed or deactivate here. And he knew without a doubt, that if he was forced to he would become just as criminal as every single one of his guests.

"That's something very remarkable." For a moment the mech seemed to hesitate, then he finally decided to tell the truth: "To understand, why I'm here, I need to go explain a few things. Over twenty vorns ago, an enforcer named Orion Pax discovered large discrepancies in the data about the energon mined in Rodion. He went to his superiors, but they didn't listen. So, he kept quiet, but told a friend and this friend told a miner, now successful gladiator, named Megatron about it."

Jazz had listened to the sudden story telling with polite interest, but this name had startled him. "Megatron..." It was so very familiar and with a jolt he remembered. "Is he the same as Megatronus?"

The mech nodded. "The very same."

He took a deep gulp of his energon cube to soothe and overact the tension that raced through him. Megatronus was a name every Kaonite knew and admired. As gladiator he fought ruthlessly, brutal and with a zeal that was frightening. But off the pit, he was known for his speeches about justice and equality, his often public stands against overly terrible crimes like murder on innocents and his relentless appeals to Iacon to increase their part of the allocations. In the last vorns, he had become something like the supreme moral instance of Kaon and even the kingpin respected him.

The Praxian didn't wait, until he had understood all the implications of a possible involvement of Megatronus and continued, "Megatron and Orion Pax met and between them, they agreed to try to find out what happens to the energon regardless of the upper levels of the Enforcers. Soon, they found more and more helpers and their movement grew. After only one vorn they knew that most of the energon went to Kaon and Megatron decided to investigate here himself."

He snorted. "Of course, it went to Kaon! We would starve without it."

"We agree," said the other mech with a frown. "Megatron and Orion Pax were aghast at the atrocious conditions they discovered. The group investigated further. Around half of the missing energon is used to fuel the citizens, the other half goes into the pockets of a few influential mechs, who see Kaon as their own purse to take from as they please."

He had never heard it stated as plain and with such a great certainty, but over the vorns rumours and experience had provided him with a good overview of their sorry state as well. "Corruption, and? Kaon lives of its corruption, while it chokes itself with it, that's nothing new."

The mech's optics narrowed. "Really? Even if I told you, those influential mechs created this situation artificially?"

He froze. "What do you mean?"

The mech clasped his hands together as if searching for something to keep hold of – or for a throat to strangle. "I mean, all this doesn't happen by chance, but by careful design of a few council members. Kaon has been systematically driven into poverty and corruption for the sole purpose of bleeding its citizens dry."

No. It was hard enough to live here while thinking that it was just a bad case of luck, maybe fate. But this...to hear that it all was deliberate, all the suffering, the starved and mechs, their dark and joyless lives... the unfairness was suddenly choking him as he muttered a quiet plea, "You lie."

"I do not," was the cold answer. The Praxian unsubspaced a datapad. "Here is proof."

He didn't touch the datapad on the table, which had the power to turn all the sacrifices, deprivations and horrors of his life into something that happened for no other reason but the greed of another mech. To turn the quiet deactivation of his carrier in his arms, because she had given him all the energon they had possessed just to keep him functioning, into a meaningless sacrifice... no, into murder!

He knew that he trembled, but when he spoke his voice was steady and cool: "I don't want your proof. You came here, into my bar, into my life, for what? Not for that nice story time, you want something."

A small, hesitant nod. "Yes." The Praxian looked on the table, then into the bar, everywhere but not to him. "I'm not sure if you realise how much of a reputation you have, but in this district the mechs follow you. In this district, the business of yours..." He searched for a word, but didn't find it because he changed his sentence completely. "You provide them with the only thing they have close to a home. A safe space, a warm room, mechs they can talk to." He sighed. "Here, you're their protector, and not Megatron."

He didn't answer. Too overwhelmed by everything.

"You're the only one who employs the weakest, and gives the starving a few cubes. They'll follow you. And that is what we need." The Praxian looked at him, optics glittering with emotions. "Megatron is a good leader, but he needs supporters."

"You want me to publicly support him." He vented, trying to suppress the increasing feelings. "To what end?"

The Praxian suddenly leaned forward and whispered: "We want to take over Kaon."

Primus... the feelings exploded into disbelief: "You're insane."

"No, we aren't." The Praxian seemed amused. "Orion is converting all the Enforcers left in Kaon, the gladiators already follow Megatron and the kingpin is helping as well. Not to mention, that the leader of the bodyguards of Kaon's senators, Starscream, is one of the most fanatic followers... There are few left."

That sounded big... and for the first time in vorns he felt something new. Something hot and painful that warmed his entire frame, until he didn't want to let go of it. Hope. "People like me."

"Exactly."

He let his gaze wander through the bar, seeing for the first time in far too long what he had forced himself to miss: The injured leg of the femme waiter that hadn't been repaired in nearly three vorns and was surely now rusting, the guests that weren't just calm and peaceful, but protoform deep exhausted, the energon that was diluted to the point it barely held nutrients, the shadows that not only hid the bots that wanted to live in them, but everyone and their obvious scars and signs of a life too hard to live it for very long. But most of all, he suddenly saw the empty seats of the guests that some orn hadn't turned up anymore, that were quietly missed, but never mourned, because there were no bodies and no time to do so.

He looked back to the datapad and to the mech that hadn't promised anything and still brought with him so much.

"And you?" he finally asked. "Why are you helping them? You don't look like a revolutionary."

His guest nodded. "I'm not. Not really." A small handwave pointed towards the data pad. "But I'm good with data, with logic and so I had made a career in administration. I distanced myself from my family, to not make anyone suspicious for all of our sakes, but when my brother called, I came."

"Your brother..." Again he looked at the frame, the wings that were so rare in Kaon. So rare that he knew of only one other bot who had them. Could it be...? "The kingpin?"

"Yes." The wings dropped bit lower and his optics unfocused, no doubt remembering a scene of the past that was long gone. "Smokescreen wasn't always that, but he wanted something better for me and so... he took every opportunity and became the most sought after criminal on Cybertron. For me."

It was one of many Kaon stories that all were similar, full of sacrifices, of pain and enduring, with only one end - deactivation. It was these stories that made them Kaonites, more than any frame or accent ever could. And for the first time, he noticed that they both were black and white, and knew that they had the same look in their optics. The look of someone who couldn't forget the dark vorns of desperation and still had tried with all his might, just to received the raw, new knowledge that had opened all wounds again.

It was this that let him finally take the small datapad between them.

"My name is Jazz, by the way", he said with a wink. "You should know, after all it seems we'll spent much time with each other."

The winged Kaonite stared and then his face relaxed into a beautiful smile. "I'm Prowl. It's nice to meet you, comrade."


End file.
